


A Hard Time for Such a Pretty Thing

by Osprayhurricane



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-25 00:10:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osprayhurricane/pseuds/Osprayhurricane





	A Hard Time for Such a Pretty Thing

John's heavy tread thunders up the stairs and into 221B Baker Street. Sherlock, sitting at the table looking through his microscope, turns just in time to see John entering, his face dark furrowed. 

_Oh, he's mad. _

furrowed, intense. 

  
Sherlock grunted, his brow knitting together as he began to pant, the mask growing foggy from his hot breath.

“You've been naughty,” John growls as he prowls towards him, his voice deep and low, causing cascades of shivers down Sherlock's back. “Greg and I were out watching the game. He told me what a little strumpet you've been, bouncing around London like the little tart you are. Getting everyone riled up and then leaving before you even so much as helped him on the recent case.”

Sherlock bites his bottom lip. Surely, this can't be what has John so furious. "There's something else?"

The level of fury in John's dark eyes only becomes evident when Sherlock takes drugs or risks his life... 

Sherlock's eyes go wide and his mouth forms an 'O'. "Oh, God. Lestrade told you." 

"That you decided to run out into traffic? Again. Nearly got yourself hit. _Twice_." John snarls.

Sherlock's drops his head to his chest, trying to work out how best to ask John's , giving John a coy look under fluttering lashes and childishly mumbles “Did you tell him it was because you gave me such a hard time…over and over.”

Sherlock reached down, slipping just two fingers into the waistband of John’s pajamas and pulling them out and down, releasing John’s cock. John’s erection stood out proudly, heavy, thick and long, flushed red and leaking steadily. 

“Oh, John.” Sherlock’s voice was pleased. “Look at how you’re leaking. I want to taste it. But first, you have to come for me, John.” Sherlock leaned forward, so his mouth was millimeters from John’s ear. “John. Oh, John. Please, John. Ah! Ah! Ah!” Sherlock’s voice had gone from deep an teasing to high and needy.

Sherlock trembles in place. He needs John so much. Needs the attention. Needs the pain.

"Are you going to spank me?"

John smiles evilly. "Not yet." John instead st

Â 

â€œLeave it.â€� John stopped him with a hand on his wrist. â€œI want you fully dressed when I open your fly and show you how much I adore your brilliance AND your body.â€�

Watching the slender, pale brunette John feels the sudden overwhelming urge to strip those panties down to his ankles and see how far he can make the boy bend while admonishing him at the same time. 

snarling angry

He throws open the front door only for him to stop in his tracks the instant he catches sight of Sherlock. The auburn-brunette is bent over the table looking through his microscope - a normal lovely sight. However, right now he is wearing nothing but a pair of pink satin panties. John emits a deep groan. Only a pink triangle is visible above his perfectly round buttocks as the rest disappears between the overly lush globes. John's hands itch to reach out and pull those globes apart and chase that pink material to his prize of 

the young man He rips off his black donkey jacket, not even bothering to hang it up properly once he sees Sherlock. 

“You’ve been naughty,” John growls. He prowls over closer, his voice deep and low, causing Sherlock to shiver. “Greg and I were out watching the game. He told me 

Sherlock's eyes go wide and then he drops his head down, giving John a coy look under fluttering lashes and childishly mumbles “Did you tell him it was because you gave me such a hard time…over and over.” Watching the slender, pale brunette John feels the sudden overwhelming urge to strip those panties down to his ankles and see how far he can make the boy bend while admonishing him at the same time. 

"I'll show you a hard time." He growls.

******

Sweat poured from John’s brow and ran into his eyes. He brushed his forehead against the back of the chair to dry it. Sherlock had started with the flogger, warming John up. It thudded against his buttocks and thighs, not painful, just a pleasant pressure. A tease.

The blows came harder. Faster. Snapping against his flesh. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Now it was starting to sting. John moaned around the fabric of Sherlock’s formerly white, now pink shirt which was stuffed into his mouth. His arse was burning and surely bruised, and Sherlock hadn’t even used the crop yet. It was glorious. The endorphins were flowing freely and swaddling him in a beautiful haze of pain. **Thwap.** One final blow rocked him forward, eliciting another moan. Given a reprieve, he exhaled hard through his nose.

He felt a cool hand on his abused flesh and then the press of lips to his shoulder. “My John. You are lovely,” Sherlock murmured in that sinfully silky voice. “Shall I continue?”

John nodded, then watched as Sherlock picked up the crop and flicked it through the air a few times, testing the flexibility. It had a leather strap on the handle and Sherlock slipped it over his wrist. Sherlock was strong for such a slender man, and John often wondered how he maintained his strength. Most of the time he never seemed to expend extra energy or make unnecessary movements. John could swear he’d seen Sherlock completely motionless for five hours at a time. But when it was necessary, or when he was in one of his manias, he could bend a poker, run for miles, or fight off multiple armed attackers. He was indeed a wonder, and John was happy that he was about to be the beneficiary of Sherlock’s unlikely strength.

The first blow was like a streak of fire across his already burning arse and the second followed quickly. Even through the cotton fabric in his mouth, his shout filled the room, and he hoped that Mrs Hudson had taken Sherlock’s advice about the headphones.

Again, and again the crop landed, Sherlock skillfully applying the strokes so as not to overlay one with another. He moved behind John to vary the placement and intensity. John’s eyes were closed, and his forehead now lay against the back of the chair. His cock was fully hard and dribbling onto the Union Jack pillow. 

This. This is what he needed. What he craved. The adrenaline rush. The pure sensation. Every nerve ending alert. This is why he had loved being a soldier. Warfare was a different sort of rush but in some ways the same. It scratched the same itch.

“You can do better than that, John.” A particularly wicked blow landed on his upper thigh, and he cried out.

“Good, Love.”

_Love. _It always made him feel warm when Sherlock called him Love. He was pretty sure no one would believe that that word had ever crossed the detective’s lips. It was their secret. He was the only one who knew that side of Sherlock. The tender side. The side that made John breakfast in bed when he was ill. The side that held his hand when they watched telly on the sofa. The side that was beating him mercilessly because that’s what John needed right now.

“Spread your arse. John.”

_Oh, shit._

“Now.”

Apparently, Sherlock was actually angry about the shirt and was about to show his displeasure. Up to this point it had all been for John, but these next blows were going to be true retribution.

John reached behind him and grasped his cheeks. They were scorching hot.

“More.”

John obliged, exposing the most intimate, most sensitive part of himself to Sherlock’s wrath. He had a safeword. He could end this at any time. But there was no way he was going to do that. _No way in hell._

“Are you ready, John?”

“He nodded.”

Pain, bright and exquisite in its intensity, exploded on his bum and lights danced behind his eyelids as the crop landed across his arsehole and the soft flesh surrounding it. Once. Twice. Three times. His whole world was transformed at that moment to one gigantic all-consuming black hole of sensation, and he was falling through it, then floating. Light as air.

******

“Talk to me, John.” The fabric was removed from his mouth, and Sherlock eased him to his feet, pulling him the few steps to the other chair and up onto his lap.

“Mmmmm,” was all John could manage, curling up against Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, then forced him to drink some water.

“Better now?”

“Much better. Thank you.”

“I’m not done with you yet. Because you are sitting in my lap, I’m sure you can deduce that you have aroused me, doctor. That needs to be taken care of.”

******

Sherlock’s eyes sparkled, and the crinkles that drove John mad appeared at their corners as he smiled broadly. “Oh John, I think you’ll like this one. It’s a quadruple homicide in Convent Garden. I believe it’s linked to the Russian mafia and the drug trade. Lestrade will be here in an hour. It sounds very dangerous. The ‘Game’ is most definitely on!”

John put down his cup.

“When did you know about this, Sherlock?”

“I told you. It came in this morning. While you were kneeling bare-arsed on the chair. You seemed so eager that I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

John was sputtering now. “You…You…You utter dick! You went ahead with that little scene in there even though you knew there was a fantastic case, a dangerous case?”

“Oh, get off it, John, you enjoyed every minute of it,” Sherlock scoffed. And there was no way I was going to let you get away with ruining my shirt.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” John agreed.

“Of course, I’m right! Come here.”

Sherlock rose, and John went to him. They embraced. They kissed. Sherlock stroked the back of John’s neck, and John pressed his cheek to Sherlock’s shoulder.

John rips off his jeans to reveal his eleven-inch horse-hung cock. It juts up beastly, thick, curved like the bow of a ship. 

***

“You’ve been a terrible cock tease the entire time we’ve been here, John. My testicles have been drawn up so tight for so long that it might require exploratory surgery to find them!”

“Oh, I can find them and I know just where to look.” John said, putting his hand over Sherlock’s cock - again.

“Stop that!” Sherlock said, slapping at John’s hand.

“Fine. Fine. Let’s just lay down on the sofa and have a cuddle together. I promise to be good.” John wheedled.

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Come on. You’re the taller one so you’re in back.” John said as he pushed Sherlock back down on the sofa until he supine.

After arranging body to his satisfaction, John said, “I can’t fit if you don’t lay on your side.” And Sherlock had turned onto his side - begrudgingly.

“I’ll lay in front of you, just so.” John lay on his side in front of Sherlock and moved Sherlock’s arms until they were encircling him.

“There. Isn’t this nice?” John asked.

“Not really. No.”

“How about now?” And then John wiggled his arse against Sherlock’s finally deflating cock. Nope. There it was. At full attention again.

“John. This isn’t helping.”

“That’s because you need to relax.” John reached down and drew the blanket back over them.

“It’s difficult to relax when my cock is all but up your arse.”

“Don’t be a spoil sport. Let’s enjoy the peace and quiet and the fireplace.”

Sherlock took a moment to glance about to confirm that they were indeed, finally, amazingly alone.

“Ok.” Sherlock said as he began kissing John behind his ear knowing that was one of John’s weak spots.

“That’s nice.” John murmured and again pushed his bum against Sherlock’s cock, this time keeping it firmly in place.

Attempting to gain a little relief, Sherlock began thrusting against John’s arse.

“I want you so badly, John and have done the entire time we’ve been here.” Sherlock whispered in between kisses.

Sherlock lifted the arm covering John and covertly reached into his pocket for the lube.

“What are you doing? I was enjoying that hug.” John said, with a smile in his voice.

“My arm was going to sleep. I just need to shake it out.” Then Sherlock brought his hand up to his mouth, ostensively to cover a cough, but actually taking the opportunity to quietly tear the packet open with his teeth, using his lips to squeeze the lube from the packet and onto his fingers..

“I’d think that the arm I’m laying on would be the one to fall asleep.” John said.

“Well, be that as it may, that doesn’t change the fact that my arm was asleep and is now coming back to life with pins and needles.”

Making a move to get up, John said, “Oh. I can help you get the blood flowing again.”

“Trust me. The blood’s flowing just fine. In fact, I have a surplus of blood at the moment. I’m just going to rest my arm behind you for a bit while the feeling comes back.”

Sherlock curled his lubed fingers up so as not to get them anywhere other than his goal.

He leaned back over and began kissing John’s neck, then moved to his earlobe, sucking and then lightly biting it.

“God. That feels so good. More.” John sighed.

Sherlock obliged while simultaneously running the afore mentioned trapped hand to brush over John’s nipple.

“I can’t wait until you can fuck me again.”

“Why wait?” Sherlock asked as he slid his hands inside John’s pajama bottoms. Hmm...he wasn’t wearing any pants. This was going to be a lot easier than he’d originally thought. It helped that he was sans pants as well.

“No. No. No.” John said, crushing Sherlock’s hand between his arse and Sherlock’s cock.

“This isn’t the time or place and besides, we’re not prepared.”

“But I am, John.” Sherlock slid his fingers down John’s arse and upon reaching his hole, slowly slid a finger into that tight ring of muscle.

“Sherlock! What are you....oh. Ooh.” John moaned as Sherlock began gliding in and out of his hole.

“Why, John, I’m getting ready to do this.” And added a second finger to the first, making scissoring motions as he readied John for his cock.

“Oh god! We can’t! What if someone sees us?” John said with an anxious moan.

“No one is going to see us. Mycroft went to bed hours ago and my parents have been gone for 45 minutes now. Plus, we’re covered by this blanket that you so considerately placed over us. We’re alone, John. Finally. And I’m done being teased. I’m going to fuck the hell out of you tonight.” Then Sherlock added a third finger, causing John to sigh and press his tight arse further down until all three fingers were knuckle deep.

“How?”

“John. Really? You need me to tell you how I’m going to fuck you?” Sherlock pumped his fingers in and out of John twice more and then moved his hand back up to John’s waistband, hooking his thumb inside and roughly pushing the pajama bottoms down until they were beneath John’s sweet arse.

Sherlock reached for the lube that he’d conveniently left on the back of the sofa and using his teeth, squeezed out the remainder onto his hand. Curling up his fingers again, he quickly shoved his pajama bottoms down, until both his cock and balls were exposed.

This had happened so quickly that John barely got a chance to protest before Sherlock had already lubed his cock and was now using his hand to guide it into John’s hole followed by thrusting into John deeply. He had done with waiting.

“Oooh. God. That feels so good! Fuck me, Sherlock! Fuck me!”

Sherlock moved his hand to John’s hipbone holding it so tightly that there were sure to be bruises in the shape of his fingerprints the next day.

“Pull your knees up so that I can go deeper!” Sherlock groaned.

As soon as John had complied, Sherlock pulled John back and impaled him on his cock fucking him without care or conscience about the rough treatment of John’s arse.

Each slam into John was followed by his deep moan as the blanket slid down from their exuberance.

“You’ve been a bad boy, John. Four weeks worth of foreplay? That wasn’t very *thrust* Nice *thrust* of you, now *thrust* was *thrust* it?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not sure that I could stop now if I wanted to. And *thrust* I *thrust* don’t *thrust* want to!”

“Grab my cock, Sherlock!”

“Nope.”

John reached down to touch himself and was stopped by a firm hand on his wrist.

“See. Here’s the thing, John. You’ve teased me for over a month. Gave me blue balls, in fact. I didn’t even know that was a thing before now and I could have lived the rest of my life content without that knowledge, thank you.

I’ve asked you time and again and still you continued on as if I hadn’t said a thing.” Sherlock pulled out and began fucking John with just the head of his cock on one stroke, penetrating him fully with the next.

“So here’s what going to happen. I’m going to fuck you until I come inside of you. I’m going to come in you so hard and so deeply that it will be days before it leaks out of you.”

Sherlock had begun slamming into John during this entire speech and he was close. Very close.

“And guess what? You’re not allowed to come. Not this time, John. That’s what happens to a merciless cocktease. Welcome to my world.”

“No! Sherlock! Please! I have to come. I NEED to come!”

“Sorry. Maybe later. A lot later.”

Sherlock was about to come when they heard an upstairs door open and steps heading downstairs.

“Blanket! Blanket! Blanket!!” John quietly exclaimed while grabbing the just barely remaining edge of the blanket, until they were both covered. He gave a sigh of relief.

However, Sherlock was still fucking John, albeit with subtle moves, but he was close enough that he was sure that he could come this way. John whimpered.

“John! Hush and take it like a man!” Sherlock said, sliding into John once again.

“Stop! Someone’s coming!” John whispered.

“Almost.”

“Sherlock?” His mother called out.

“Yes, mum?” Sherlock said, his voice hoarse.

“Are you coming down with a cold?” She said, walking into the living room where both John and Sherlock lay on the sofa.

“No mummy. I’m fine.” Sherlock said sliding into John so subtly as to be unnoticeable. By anyone besides John, that is.

“You’re both sweating! Let’s take that hot blanket off of you.” She said, reaching out to pull the blanket.

“No!” Sherlock and John said simultaneously.

“It’s fine. Really. Thank you though.” Sherlock said, still lightly rocking against John’s arse any time his mother glanced away.

“Well, at least let me fix you both a cool drink.” She said, heading into the kitchen.

“No worries, Mrs Holmes. We’re *uhh* fine.” John said in the middle of Sherlock sliding into him.

“Really?”

“Yes. Yes. Mummy. We’re fine.” It was now a race against Sherlock coming before his mother reentered the living room. He knew that if he didn’t come now, the opportunity wouldn’t occur again until they’d gotten home. He was definitely coming now.

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god! Sherlock, please! Your mother could come back at any moment!” John whispered.

“Uhnnn.” Sherlock moaned, holding John still while he pulsed inside of him. It was possibly the best, strongest orgasm in his life and he collapsed against John with a sigh as the last drop left his body and entered John’s.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? I made tea.” She said as she walked in, gesturing with her mug.

“No. God no! For the love of god, will you please go back to bed!!” Sherlock all but shouted.

“Mind your manners, Sherlock. I didn’t raise you to speak to me that way.” His mother said sternly.

“Sorry, mummy. It’s just so rare these days that John and I get some time alone here.” John just lay in a daze, saying nothing as he felt Sherlock’s cock slide out of him.

“Well, Sherlock. Try using your bedroom for this ‘alone time’ that you’ve been having for the past hour and a half. Your father and I would like to get to sleep sometime tonight.”

“I second that motion!” Mycroft shouted from the top of the stairs.

“I third it!” Their father shouted down.

With a little laugh, she said, “Goodnight, dears. Get some rest and don’t leave any...clues for anyone to find tomorrow morning.” And with that, she left the living room and they listen to her footsteps as she went to her room. The sound of one door softly snicking closed was following by the loud bang of another door closing.

“MYCROFT!” His parents yelled through the door.

“Sorry, mummy.” They heard him answer.

“Oh god. We’re never going to hear the end of this.” John groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“People have sex, John. It’s not a secret.”

“Not with their mother in the room, they don’t! I’m going to die from embarrassment. I can feel it.”

“Don’t worry about it. Mycroft will keep his mouth shut if he knows what’s what’s good for him.”

“What could you possibly have on him that would keep him silent?”

“Why, I’ll just say that I caught Mycroft in the hot house with the gardener bent over the flowerbeds.”

“Is that true?” John asked, somewhat amazed. Mycroft had had sex before? Who knew?

“Of course it’s true. Why would I make something like that up? Never mind. Don’t answer that. Just know that he wouldn’t like our parents to find out.”

“I seriously doubt that you could use a youthful indiscretion to blackmail him into keeping quiet, Sherlock.”

“Oh no. You have it all wrong. This was when we were here last year. Why do you think I wanted to leave so quickly? Besides sex! You can’t unsee something like that. So, if he starts with his snide remarks tomorrow, I’ll just ask mummy what fertilizer the gardener has been using to create such large blooms on the hot house roses. In January.”

“You’re a scary man, sometimes, Sherlock.” John said, half jokingly.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Sherlock said as they began the process of cleaning up.

“I could also mention the time that I caught Mycroft having sex with cook over the butcher block. Very unsanitary. And then, another time, I caught him...”

****

### Chapter Text

“I want you however you can take me or give yourself to me, Sherlock. I don’t care just... ahhh ... just don’t stop” Sherlock was about to kill him as he blew a cool breath over John’s cock in comparison with the heat of the shower. The lust flowing through John at Sherlock’s teasing was about to drive him crazy. Then again, if he could stay crazy with Sherlock like that forever, it wouldn’t be such a bad life. John was looking down at Sherlock’s naked form kneeling in front of him. Naked and aroused, he was a wet dream come true as he looked up at John with eyes worth loosing yourself in. The water from the shower above was sliding off John’s back and washing off some of the suds that Sherlock had applied before. Now, he was lathering his hands again and starting to wash John's leg at the ankle. 

Sherlock was an erotic god of touch. He was able to caress John’s ankle with such finesse and precision; he could bring to life zones that John had no idea could be erogenous. Sherlock’s fingers massaged and washed John’s left leg to the knee with small soft strokes. When he reached John’s thigh it was hard for John not to moan in need for mo re, especially when his inner thigh was given special attention. 

“That feels so good, Sherlock.” John put a hand on Sherlock’s hair, needing to touch the soft curls and ground himself. 

“Hands behind your back.” The barked ord er in Sherlock’s low voice sent a shiver through John and he obeyed immediately, linking his hands behind his back. 

Sherlock knew how to use his voice to coax John into compliance. He had also taught John to respond to that tone because it meant good things were coming his way. Sherlock’s fingertips caressing his inner thigh were a study in John’s patience and self-restraint as he tried not to writhe in search for more. 

There were times when John wanted to devour Sherlock, take control and have him at his mercy. This time, however, he was happy to keep his hands behind his back and succumb to Sherlock’s hands and open-mouthed kisses along his inner thigh. 

“Sherlock...” The name was a moan on John’s lips. 

“Mmmm?” Sherlock murmured the sound into John’s skin, the soft vibration tickling and spreading throughout John. 

“ Fuuck ...” He moaned again, clearly not capable of coherent speech anymore. 

“Later.” Sherlock grinned wolfishly, reaching for more soap. 

Even though John had anticipated the touch, he still sucked in a breath when Sherlock reached for his balls to wash them. The caress was soft but the wash was thorough and driving John wild. The long fingers inched under John’s sac making him widen his stance in lieu of vocal consent. 

Sherlock’s gaze was upturned, looking at John, his big eyes filled with as much lust as tenderness. With one hand he continued massaging John’s sac while the other reached for John’s cock. John thrust into the slack grip washing his erection, wanting more. After several strokes however, Sherlock stood up slowly, his hands working their way up John’s belly, over his pecs and to his neck. 

John closed his eyes to revel in the scorching touch that ignited his body. Sherlock’s mouth replaced his hands over the sensitive flesh of John’s neck, kissing gently but increasing in intensity. John’s gasp was captured by Sherlock’s lips as his hands slid to graze John’s nipples. Unashamedly, John moaned into the kiss, deepening it, wordlessly begging him to continue. 

The air left John’s lungs as his plea was heard and his back hit the tiled wall of the shower when Sherlock pushed him and crowded him with his tall frame. In spite of that, John opened to the kiss, needing Sherlock's lips more than he needed air. John’s hands reached for Sherlock, squeezing his firm buttocks, pulling him even closer. The showerhead was now above Sherlock, the water wetting his hair, sliding down his magnificent body and John’s hands on it. 

Sherlock broke the kiss to look into John’s eyes, catching air between panting breaths. There was so much more than lust in them, it made John’s knees go weak and his heart swell. 

John often wondered how Sherlock could worship his body when it was so imperfect, but he had never seen a single negative glance or opinion from his lover. 

“I adore your body, John.” Sherlock said above John’s lips as if he’d read his mind, just as he always had. 

“Even this?” John patted his soft belly, feeling quite self-conscious. 

“Especially this.” Sherlock kissed him again, sliding his hands from John’s belly and around his waist. There were times John wished he was in the same shape as his military days. Today, hearing the sincerity in Sherlock’s voice, he didn’t care. He made a move to usher them to the bedroom, needing Sherlock on a flat and comfortable surface, but was met with a protest. 

“I haven’t washed your back yet.” Sherlock stopped him and in a swift move, prompted John to turn and place his hands on the tiled wall. John followed the movement, presenting his backside to his lover in the process. 

“I also adore this.” Sherlock squeezed John’s arse cheeks before giving one a solid slap that echoed in the bathroom. The delicious sting turned into warmth and subsequent need for more. 

“ Mmm anything else?” Unabashedly, John thrust his arse back. 

“John Watson!” Sherlock gasped theatrically. “Are you fishing for compliments?!” 

“Shut up!” John replied as a grin s plit his face. He was the one that always showered Sherlock with praise, but he also needed an ego boost occasionally . 

“Never!” Sherlock's hands took John’s hips in a possessive hold that made John feel like a true object of desire. He could feel Sherlock’s long, erect cock pressing between his arse cheeks and he moved to add friction but Sherlock’s vice-like grip prevented him. Once it loosened, one of Sherlock’s hands reached for John’s cock wrenching a needy sound out of him. 

“Here’s another lovely part of your body that’s on my list.” Sherlock growled into John’s ear as he stroked his cock, making his breathing pick up and fire kindle in his abdomen. At the same time, John felt Sherlock’s cock rutting between his arse cheeks as if looking for a way in. The feeling was so good, too good in fact, for what was still in store for the evening. 

“I’ll... oh God Sherlock, you can’t… or I’ll come like this.” It was the weakest of protests John had ever uttered and he was sure Sherlock knew it. 

“No, you won’t.” Sherlock squeezed John’s cock harder, mercilessly wringing a groan of pleasure from him. “You’d rather come with my cock inside you while I take you on the bed.” 

Those words pronounced in a low sexy growl washed over John with intent but all he could do was nod. It was the absolute truth and his mind painted the picture Sherlock’s words described in vivid detail. They had been playing that game for a while now and John knew how to pull himself from the brink of orgasm more than once in one session, just so he could climax with tripled intensity later. 

Sherlock’s right hand continued toying with John’s erection as his left reached between his cheeks, taking the place previously occupied by Sherlock’s cock. John’s gasp turned into a moan as Sherlock massaged his entrance under the guise of cleaning. He rested his forehead on the cold wall in a futile attempt to cool his head, but instead ended up positioning his arse to be more available to Sherlock’s ministrations. 

“I think...” Jo hn breathed heavily. “I think I’m clean now,” was what he said but what he thought, however, was closer to: _‘I want to be in bed with you already’ _. 

When Sherlock’s touch disappeared from John’s body, longing to have it back took its place. Still coming down from the brink of orgasm, John turned to see the detective washing himself. He must know that John had been teased long enough but the graceful form of Sherlock Holmes that stood before him continued a new kind of tease. Sherlock’s hands glided over his body as if choreographed, as if he was posing for a shoot in an erotic movie. John stood motionless, mesmerised, as his gaze followed the movement from Sherlock’s long neck then lower. The suds disappeared when Sherlock stepped under the spray reminding John of a tide washing over the surface of perfectly smooth rocks. Not for the first time, John found himself jealous of droplets of water as they had the privilege of cleansing Sherlock’s body. 

Sherlock was looking at John as he continued washing and John knew the exact moment Sherlock imagined John’s hands on him. His mouth parted and his gaze darkened again as he was washing his cock, never lowering his gaze from John. 

As if pulled by unimaginable forces of lust, John knelt and looking up, opened his mouth. Sherlock’s cock was heavy when it was placed on his tongue as if it was a reward. John closed his lips over the head and sucked, his tongue playing with the frenulum, administering a tease in revenge. 

“Bed! Now!” Sherlock growled just a moment later, pulling his cock out with an audible pop and groaning as he squeezed it in his hand. 

John didn’t have to be told twice and, in a few movements, he turned off the shower and caught the towel that flew his way. 

Upon entering the bedroom, John’s eyes followed Sherlock’s body, the gorgeous body that was his to take and that took from him. He watched as Sherlock’s arse muscles moved when Sherlock walked in front of him. Oh, how he loved that perfect arse. Loved to bite it, lick it, caress it and dive between the cheeks with his tongue. 

Then Sherlock stopped and turned his head to look at John over his shoulder. If it was a movie from John’s point of view, there would be light coming down from above, illuminating Sherlock’s face as sexy music played in the background. Sherlock would wink and John would follow him to bed knowing he was the happiest man alive. The way it happened was a lot like that anyway. 

***

Having been stripped of his red panties, bruises and bitemarks forming a necklace across his thin long throat and delicate collarbones, Sherlock writhes against the thick fingers, squirming in desperation as they slide over his skin, pressing into him, parting his thighs and making him keen high pitched needy sounds. He whimpers John's name, pinioned on his lap, John's free arm tight around his front, binding him close.

"Please!" He begs so prettily. "Please let me come, please, Daddy, please!" Sherlock cries, but there is no respite, and John smirks as he continues to lazily scissor him open, his attention focused on how delicious the sounds Sherlock makes are blaring television, not on bringing a shaky John anywhere near close to an orgasm. Every time John thinks he might be able to manage it, Sherlock's hand drops from his torso to his crotch, smacking just hard enough at his balls to make John droop.

John wants to wail in agony as Sherlock pinches at his nipples, middle three fingers pushing John ever wider, but he swallows the noise, leaning his head back against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock slides himself inside John soon after, tugging at the unresisting frame that rests atop him, making sure he is filled as much as he can be. After this, John can only pant and moan softly as he is bounced on Sherlock's knees, thrusts threatening to send him over the edge once more.

'You know what you need to say,' Sherlock murmurs in John's ear, pinching at his nipples, licking over his neck. 'You know what I need to hear if you are going to be allowed to do anything, John.'

John is practically snivelling, so overstimulated he can barely think, but he knows what is expected, and so he grasps for the words, fingers clutching at Sherlock's biceps, voice wavering as Sherlock slides over his prostate, making it harder and harder to concentrate.

'G-greedy slutty h-hole needs f-filling, p-please, Daddy, please?'

Sherlock groans, the phrase sending a blast of pure fire down through his body. He fists John's cock eagerly, tugging his little boy backward, knowing he cannot stay upright on his own now.

'Who's Daddy's good boy?' he murmurs, squeezing at the base of John's cock, watching him squirm like a fish on a hook, loving the sight of John so debased.

'M-me, Daddy, please-' whispers John, his hips lifting, body shuddering once before he starts to spurt over Sherlock's hand, keening softly as he flops against the other man's body, thoroughly spent.

'Such a good boy,' Sherlock says, stroking at John's hair affectionately. 'Just say it earlier next time, and you can avoid all of this drama.'

Even with his brain as fuzzy as it is at this moment, John knows that isn't true at all. But he'll give it a go, nonetheless.

, Sherlock lies panting on the bed, completely limp from coming at the passion of John's love, and from John's deep voice telling him all the things he still plans on doing to him. 

John hums, pulling back to appreciate the sight before him.

Sherlock is lying on his stomach, presenting his sinfully lush ass to him, and the older man groans deep in his chest. The delectable sight is enough to make John believe in God again. To have sex with Sherlock. To put his cock inside Sherlock. Over and Over and Over. It's a nirvana nothing else could reach. 

He reaches over and rummages around for the bottle of lube. He turns back around to find Sherlock is still lying splayed out on the bed with his ripe ass perked up in the air.

"You little tease." John rumbles. 

"Enjoying the view?" Sherlock asks, giving him a coquettish wink.

“Very much so,” John hums, stroking his hands down the silky planes of Sherlock’s back down to the virginal white mounds. “I have the most amazing view in the city.” Sherlock’s ass is pale snow, perfectly smooth. Plush and supple yet firm and tautly muscled. No other ass comes close. 

”Is that so? 

giggles, playfully wiggling his hips, which make his globes sway oh so enticingly. 

“Naughty boy.” John strikes each asscheek once with a slap of his big thick hand. The sound echoes loudly 

"Are you jealous?" chuckles John.

"I was," John agrees. "I didn't say that I'm not a hypocrite," he says and hums. "Now get on with it."

"Such romanticism," snorts Sherlock in mock annoyance. "Get on with it. What I'm supposed to be a bull or a stallion one uses for breeding?" he mutters.

"Planning to stand there for the rest of the morning?" asks John playfully.

"I might," answers Sherlock cheekily as he's trying very carefully to approach the bed. "After all, I have an excellent view," he adds as he kneels on the bed.

Once he's on the bed it doesn't take him long to lower himself over John's legs as he fixates his eyes on his prize. He licks his lips slowly before he allows his tongue to run from the edge of John's left buttock right into the centre.

His reward aside of the hopeful twitch of John's arsehole is a breathy and stifled moan coming from John. He smirks to himself and moves to John's right buttock to repeat the process.

He alternates between both globes without a specific rhyme or reason. Stretching and pulling them apart but staying away from the actual prize. Not because he doesn't want to, rimming John is one of his most favourite fantasies but good things come to those who wait and anticipation is part of the foreplay.

Instead, he licks and nips at the skin of John's buttocks, drinking in every sound from John. Every breathy moan, every mumbled 'brilliant', 'amazing' and 'evil sod'. The last one makes him smirk before clamps his teeth on John's left buttock hard enough to make him yelp.

He sooths the bite with his tongue before he licks his lips and pauses just long enough for a deep breath. He descends on his prize like seagull into the water in search of a fish. Licking and sucking on John's opening between trying to stab his tongue as far as he can into John's body.

From above John breaths out a stream of curses mixed with encouragements, groans with stifled moans that mingle into complete incoherency the longer Sherlock goes on. He does his best to bury his face inside John's arse even though he knows that it would be impossible to crawl inside John, no matter how much he wants to. He can certainly try.

He almost doesn't register it the first time he hears it, he's that far drunk on his desire for John. But it's loud enough for him to register it with some delay and his heart almost drops to his stomach and then to his feet.

John says, "Stop." In fact he keeps repeating it softly, "Please, stop, Sherlock."

So Sherlock does, nearly instantly.

"Did I…" Sherlock starts nervously.

"Oh, my love," whispers John. "You did nothing wrong," he assures him. "But as great as what you're doing is, I do want to come with your cock inside me. I love you, but three times within twelve hours is definitely a limit at my age," he adds between gasps for breath.

"We can always work on it later," concedes Sherlock before one last lick to John's hole. "How do you want it, my love?" he whispers against John's buttock.

"As often as you want and in any position you desire," whispers John. "Not really caring about who gets to top."

"You don't care about who gets to top?" asks Sherlock with a hum against John's buttock.

"Not with you," mumbles John. "Never with you, Sherlock. I want everything with you."

"Me too," whispers Sherlock. "I want everything with you too, John."

He gives John a few minutes to regain enough composure to not come in the very first minute he will start preparing him. He spends it on hounding the bottle of baby oil around the bed and rubbing his face against John's buttocks.

To be frank he could spend the rest of his life like this but he does know that the girls can be a handful and that at some point Daddy's patience with them will run out. He also knows that it would be the best for him and John to not be sexually frustrated when that would happen.

"How do you want it?" he whispers against John's buttock.

"I don't care," murmurs John. "Any position would do, really," he breaths out.

"Not helping," mutters Sherlock and he bites John's cheek in punishment.

"You will figure it out," mumbles John.

Oh, you cock, you bloody tease. That's why you presented yourself like that, Sherlock realises. Oh, it is on, he smirks to himself.

More precisely it's in, or it will be in once he will prepare John. Where that bottle of oil had went? It was just right there.

He finds the bottle again and starts preparing John. Gently at first, skittering with his forefinger against John's entrance. Every now and then dipping to swirl his fingers between John's balls but coming back to John's opening with more pressure and insistence and more oil. By the time he works his second finger into John's arse John is back to incoherent babbling, punctured with death threats over not getting on with it. Sherlock though takes his sweet time and waits until John is comfortable with three of Sherlock's fingers inside him before he even lubes himself.

Finally, he kneels between John's spread tights and rubs his cock over John's crack.

This is it, he thinks as he swallows.

"Waiting for an engraved invitation?" mumbles John breathlessly.

"Are you planning to issue one?" Sherlock quips.

"No, but if you won't move within ten seconds I will get you inside myself," murmurs John.

And just as he threatened his right hand sneaks underneath his body and begins searching for Sherlock's cock. Sherlock smiles and swats it away with it before he returns to rubbing himself against John's crack.

"You tease," mumbles John.

"I'm a tease?" whispers Sherlock. "I'm not the one who ended up with the arse in the air like a virginal offering to be worshiped. Not that I'm complaining," stringing all of the words into one coherent sentence takes a lot of effort from him but he manages.

"Of course you aren't," whimpers John. "Please, Sherlock, I'm dying here."

Sherlock chuckles but finally he lines himself up and gently pushes through the loosened enough circle of muscles. He keeps going at a snail's pace until he's balls deep inside John's arse.

It's such a heady and overwhelming feeling that has to lean over John to support himself on his right arm.

"Are you okay?" he whispers into John's ear.

"Never better," John whispers back. "Never better. You can move, love."

"I need a moment," mumbles Sherlock. "Or it will be over very fast."

"Okay," murmurs John as he turns his face to kiss Sherlock.

The kisses they trade are soft and languid unlike the desire to move but Sherlock knows that if he won't try to draw it out he will come under thirty seconds and that would be not good.

He draws it out with miniscule movements, searching for the right angle that makes John gasp because Sherlock managed to brush against his prostate. Once he knows that he's in the right place he continues to take his sweet, sweet time with John, trying to keep John from sneaking his hand around his prick while trying to kiss John's face rather than his shoulder.

Finally, he curls his own hand over John's on John's cock and starts jerking it in unison. It turns out to be a good thing because in the moment Sherlock's hand closes over John's, his mouth seeks Sherlock's. Within less than a minute John's arse constricts around his prick and John's come splatters over their joined hands. Together they trigger Sherlock's own orgasm which is hard enough for him to black out.

"Are you okay?" asks John softly when Sherlock comes back to his senses.

They're lying on their right sides, with Sherlock's soft cock still buried in John's arse. John's left arm is wrapped over Sherlock's own.

"I should…" breaths out Sherlock, "I should be asking you that."

"I wasn't the one that blacked out," murmurs John.

"Then we will have to repeat it," whispers Sherlock as rubs his hips against John.

"Oh, God," groans John. "Sherlock, you will literally kill me if you will try to make me come four times within twelve hours. I'm forty-five for Christ's sake," he protests weakly.

"Forty-four until nearly the end of April," mutters Sherlock. "But we can work on your stamina once we will return home," he adds before he presses a kiss to John's ear.

He cuddles up to John and shifts their arms until Sherlock's left hand is resting over John's.

He doesn't know when or where but hopefully quite soon the day will come when their joined hands would be adorned with the wedding rings.

"Can't wait for it too?" asks John softly.

Sherlock nods into John's hair.

"Can't help it," he admits. "I know that it's ridiculous and that we don't really need it but…" he pauses. "I want to belong to you, John," he whispers into John's ear. "Legally, lawfully. I surrendered my brain and heart to you and I want to surrender the rest."

"You love being Sherlock Holmes," whispers John quietly.

"I love you more," mumbles Sherlock. "It's just a bloody name, a trademark really. I can still work as Sherlock Holmes without being Sherlock Holmes anymore," he adds earnestly.

"Your parents might disagree," mumbles John.

"Daddy took Mummy's surname so he's not going to hold it against me. Mycroft might be against but he can go and fuck himself, I don't care. I don't particularly care either about Mummy's opinion on the matter even though I have no idea what it would be," he says. "Yours is the only opinion that matters, John."

"I think that you should at least consider hyphening it, for Josie's sake," answers John thoughtfully. "Husband," he adds with a hum.

In response Sherlock's cock twitches with interest.

"Oh, God, Sherlock," John groans. "I love you but…"

"I know," smiles Sherlock at him. "You're an old man, husband," he bites his lips when he feels another twitch. "Come on, lets check if a bath can bring you back to life," he murmurs.

"You know that this development has a potential of becoming problematic in our work, husband?" mumbles John.

"If I survived you pulling a rank around uniformed officers I can survive getting turned on every time I will call your or you will call me husband," he answers philosophically.

*** 

“Ahhhhhhhh! John! I can’t!! Ahhhhhh~ You’re so big! It hurts….Ahh Sto-Stop thrusting so fast! Ahh my insides… your cock is too...AAA...it..IT’S COMING Ah! It’s Ah~ I waant your baby ahh!!!"

"Your sweet ass is so tight, absolutely divine, Sherlock. Truly more magnificent than any others." He reaches down to tweak the beautiful pale pink buds on Sherlock's chest, pinching and twisting until they became swollen and red. Tears stream down Sherlock's crimson over pale cheeks. John himself is sweating up a storm. Dripping all over the pale man's smooth chest, another way John claims him.

Sherlock cries out when John shoves his monster cock deeper inside. John's own sweat drips down onto his neck and chest, adding to the wetness in the room. 

That beautiful night, the four of us were covered in clear milky milk semen. We moaned and cow. Jawn had fantastic pepperoni nipples like freshly baked pizza right out of the oven of our intimate touch. Meanwhile, Mycock and Sherlock is enjoying their Holmescest love baked at 360 degrees for thirty to forty minutes in Jawn’s tight ass. They opened up his hot oven to check the moist pizza, it smelled salty and milky. “Ah, this is Cuming Pizza! Such delicacy!” He flushed like my penis on a hot summeryyyyy day. “Oh no! It’s overly cooked!” cried Mycock, as he shoved his nose further into johns oven ass to get a better view. “GYaH!” Jawn cried, tears and sweat and milk combined. “M-My pizza is cumming out!” A chocolate waterfall of love poured out of Jawns oven like a waterfall of water, except it wasn’t water, it was chocolatey pizza goodness, lusty sexy thicc thighs.

“The game is on,” Sherlock said. “I am game,” he moaned seductively. Your scrotum is so juicy and bouncy like tits on an even hotter summmeerryyy day .

“I know what else is juicy,” Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows seductively, because everything he does is seductive. This is a very intimate moment. He was staring intimately. “Your tongue muscle is too strong, it’s too overwhelming,” Jawn cried.

“Take it bitchm” John replies. “You’re the one who acted like a baby towards Greg. Maybe I should invite him over to ”   
“I haven’t been in school for years!” Jawn cried. 

“No excuses” said Sherlock as he wiggles more. Slimy, your skin i

Sherlock wiggles a lot. He’s like a worm on the street after a HOT SUUMMMEERRYYY DAY. He’s wiggling so much. Wiggle.

“He’s reaching maximum wiggle!” cried mycock. “Mycock!”

“Why are you screaming your own name?” Jawn yelled in fear. Sherlock kept wiggling.

“No, my cock!” Mycock explained. But it was too late. The milky, milk like substance milked out of sherlock like a milk explosion, milking everyone. There was so much milk substance that they got transported into an alternate dimension. But they kept doing the sex, because “That’s what people DO!”

“Who said that?” Asked shercock. Their names changed to cock, except Jawn, because he was thinking about cock enough already.

Moriarty stepped out of the shadows. “Sex.”

The magic word had been spoken. He joined in and the four of them had a lovely intimate exchange as they viewed the pizza in Jawn’s ass intently. 

Jawns’ ass cheeks jiggled in the breeze as Mycocks’ cock helicoptered around the room. Moriarty came and pissed and shitted in his pants. It was lovely.

They hit the iceberg and titanic theme comes on 

THe End

And then everybody clapped

And then I murder everybody 

Sherlock was very happy because there are new cases yay!


End file.
